


Royal Pain

by houliheller



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houliheller/pseuds/houliheller
Summary: Sheik tells Link that anything goes but ‘eyes or lies’.And ‘kick in the crotch’ doesn’t rhyme with either of them, so Link thinks it’s a legal move.
Relationships: Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Royal Pain

Everything smells like petrichor, soil, sweat, and the thin scent of adrenaline.

Link thinks he’s to blame for the latter two, and that, unless he lives as a flower bed under that wear, Sheik is to blame for naught.

But he doesn’t think a flower would know how to leg sweep.

Beyond the more-regulars, the songs and the guidance, Sheik insists they practice hand-to-hand every now and then - under the chance risk that Link were to lose his sword and shield in a fight and be left with only his hands.

But Link doesn’t know how he would manage to lose his sword _and_ shield at the same time, and they practice so inconsistently that he never even learns anything.

Apart from that Sheik knows four different ways of straddling him.

And he doubts he could kill a Lizalfos with his bare hands, anyway.

Their current tussle, which had lasted as a fair fight for two minutes and has been slowly ending over the past five, leaves his white pants ruined with dustings and marks of soil, his joints bruised from twisting in ways they shouldn’t, and his cap clinging to his head by the slightest benefit of friction. Sheik lies atop him, again and unsurprisingly, near to a straddle if the leg-lock wasn’t solely to Link’s left thigh, and he holds both arms locked behind his back with only a hand about the wrists, with the other pressed to the back of Link’s neck so he’s half-buried into the grass and breathing against soil.

“Give in.”

He says that a lot.

And if it weren’t for the weight advantage that Link knows he has over Sheik, then maybe he would have to.

Link refuses to cede, and Sheik isn’t strong enough to hold the arms he has snared immobile when Link jolts them to the side, bending them outwards to relieve the strain on his left and to bring the right closer to the ground. Then, he pushes off with his right elbow to gain some inertia and swings his body about, hopefully to angle his right leg to Sheik’s side and land a kick with the sole of his boot.

 _Hopefully_.

But his right leg doesn’t move quite as he had hoped, and Link instead flails over onto his side like a fish out of water and Sheik remains unharmed.

And not only has he overestimated his own flexibility, but he’s also underestimated his assailant’s foresight.

Sheik shifts deftly from the leg-lock he had held to Link’s left, instead kneeling to the ground in between, avoiding them as they move, and exploits the inertia to flip Link about and return him to the ground again, catching his arms behind his back in the process.

A grunt escapes Link as he’s forced back down, little representative of the new pain that streaks across his contorted shoulders and disproportional to the strained grimace that rips across his face, and soon enough Sheik has a forearm pressed to his throat and Link is close to forfeiting again.

Sheik’s eyes glisten, somewhat softly, as he speaks once more. “Give in.”

Well, he could always flip them around again.

But he doubts it would change anything.

His eyes glance about, scrambling for an opening or maybe a stick that he can clobber Sheik with, and though the best of his thoughts find nothing, it’s the throb of muscle strain down his left leg shortly thereafter that alerts him to his perfect opportunity. 

Sheik has clearly shifted at some point, presumably when they had both settled again, because he’s now openly kneeling about Link’s right leg, and seems too occupied by his near-victory to realise the opening.

And Link knows, from some of his more unsavoury encounters throughout Hyrule, that an opening like that cannot be denied - anything goes, after all, and everything on Sheik was skin-tight enough for Link to know he couldn’t miss.

Sheik’s eyes narrow when Link’s glance cuts back to glaring at his opponent, but it’s not a suspicious tone, and if anything, it’s more smug. “Link-”

Link certainly isn’t fond of the smugness, but he is fond of besting Sheik with a surprise counterattack and tearing the pride from his eyes, and he thinks he’ll be fond of giving Sheik something _he_ won’t be fond of.

His leg contracts with a snap of muscle and drives upwards quickly, synchronous with the determined look that has replaced Link’s grimace, and Sheik’s ego cuts short as he realises Link is trying something new.

And then the kick lands with a shake, and Link watches Sheik fall apart in front of his eyes.

He strikes Sheik’s groin with more force than he had anticipated, and impacts with the sharpest point of his shin, cushioned little by the thin leather of the accompanying boot. The tight press that Sheik holds to Link’s throat shivers loose, and his shoulders suddenly feel a lot less painful.

Sheik himself jolts with a high-pitched yelp, rattled with panic and coated with a lower, sickening tone of shock, and within split-seconds his arms scramble from holding Link down and hurry to reassure the sudden burst of pain in his groin.

Then his legs cramp inwards, and he limps sideways out of his kneel and keels over into the grass beside Link with a drawn-out, horrored moan.

And soon, the tones of panic and shock are gone from the whimpers that drip from within his mask, and the pain comes to sound in their stead: shallow, strained trembles of pain that stagger.

Link sits up, watching his victim with concern as he refastens his cap. Sheik’s figure shrinks inward further, legs pressing tightly together with a clenched fist now in between and close to the zone of impact.

Link thinks he’s won this one.

“So-”

“Shut up!” The dismissal leaves Sheik with an unfamiliar tone, seething and impatient, and sounds to be spoken through clenched teeth and little breath.

Link keeps himself quiet for the moment, and the guilt in his chest starts to tick up as Sheik tilts about slightly and gasps chokingly into the grass.

“Goddesses…” He tries to lift himself onto a knee, but it buckles out quickly when he presses force to it and he crashes back to the floor with a soft whimper. 

All Link does is watch.

Sheik’s legs writhe against each other, pressed about the clenched hand in between them, and beyond the few noises of the forest and the blanketing of wind, Link can hear him breathing gutturally against the grass and muttering rounds of curses to himself.

He hadn’t meant to kick _that_ hard.

Clambering to his feet, he decides simply watching Sheik die on the floor isn’t going to help the situation, and that inaction now is just going to be ammunition for his own suffering once this is all over.

Link stays the shortest-safest distance he can from Sheik, and thinks to offer a hand as Sheik's incandescent eyes glare up at him.

The thought doesn’t make it through.

“Why did you do that?” Sheik’s voice isn’t as low as it normally is - it’s higher and lilted now. “You could have just conceded...”

Maybe the kick had pushed them back inside his body.

“You said anything goes but eyes or lies-”

“I know what I said!” Sheik coils against the floor, and takes a breath before he speaks again. “But that doesn’t mean you can just kick me in the-” He hesitates - Link supposes the pain washes over him again. “...k-kick me in the balls…”

He flattens his lips, rubbing at his jawline nervously. “Sorry.”

“Sorry…” Sheik scoffs, legs bending slightly as his hand tightens, and a pained moan tumbles through his breath and then he coughs his way back to speaking. “I appreciate the sentimentality whilst you attend my deathbed.” 

What?

Link doesn’t serve a response, somewhat because the semantics of Sheik’s retort escape him, so he kneels down instead and opts to at least help him up.

Though, Sheik doesn’t seem keen.

“Don’t touch me!” Sheik is breathless through his objections. “That’s not an invitation to touch me!”

Link recoils backwards. He’s never heard Sheik this furious before - even the time Link had snuck up on _him_ doesn’t come close, and the Sheik he ‘knows’ is slowly morphing into a more articulate, softer-spoken, screeching _thing_.

He knew getting kicked in the balls was bad, but Link had never witnessed something like this in neither himself nor someone else.

Though, he supposed the tightness of his wear wasn’t helping.

“You should probably lie down somewhere… warmer.” Link is careful with his words. “Rest it off.”

“Of course.” The sarcasm is setting in. “Allow me to get up and walk there myself.”

Link doesn’t respond for a moment, deliberately, which leaves Sheik to squirm awkwardly against the dewed grass under the burden of his pain and the embarrassment of his poisoned tone.

It’s almost cathartic to watch him.

“‘You want me to carry you?”

Sheik doesn’t respond for a moment, either, but he manages to shift over onto his back and Link thinks the pain and discomfort has finally convinced him.

And though the words are whispered and reluctant, they’re as clear as day to Link. “Yes, please.”

Link nods, thinning his lips as he crouches down and steps closer to Sheik’s corpse. He snakes one arm under the back of his knees, and wraps the other around his back and grips the hand to his chest at the other side. 

He lifts Sheik slowly, shifting him slightly in his hold, missing as Sheik forces the gripped hand away from his chest and further down to his midriff, and then turns the light figure about slightly so he holds him comfortably.

“Just to the fire.” Sheik’s previous fury has slowly turned to desperation. “That’s where my things are.”

Sheik settles limp into Link’s hold, legs dangling about his left arm and hands tucked low about his midriff. His thighs remained fastened against one another, though his upper body is quite the opposite and his head falls to rest against Link’s chest with a whimper.

The man was really light.

His breaths remain shaky against Link’s chest, occasionally lined with a defeated whine or moan and shivering with the oscillations of Link’s strides as he carries him, and in the short moment that he does speak it’s whispered and pitied.

“I think I’m bleeding.”

“I doubt it.” The pain made it seem like more than it was. “I think you’re fine.”

His head shifts slightly. “And how would _you_ know?”

“Because you’d have to get hit in the balls with a tree.”

“Right.” Sheik winces underneath his mask, Link catches it in the corner of his eye, and seems to take his words as gospel. “I… of course.”

Link can no longer smell the petrichor nor the soil, and there’s a healthy lavishing of sweat and a thicker tone of adrenaline that courses through the air.

And although it’s certainly coming from Sheik, Link thinks he’s still equally to blame.

When they reach the crude setup of a log-bench, a snuffed out campfire and a small set of rope-sealed bags, Link settles him to the floor and against the log, against which Sheik falls limp, and pulls his arms from him as precariously as he can.

Sheik seems a slight more content now, at least Link hopes he is, but by the coarseness of his breaths, his troubles haven’t yet subsided.

“Your outfit probably isn’t helping.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s probably…” Careful. “...uncomfortable, for you.” He shrugs, struggling to transcribe his point into words. “You know-”

“It’s fine.” Sheik snaps his thoughts short. “Don’t fret over my clothing.” His voice quietens. “Or my groin.” He glances back a final time. “I appreciate the assistance, but it’s time for you to go away, now.”

Go away? “Uh-” Link finds himself confused. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t you want me to help out-”

“No.” Sheik glares up at him now. “No, I really do not.”

Link could understand privacy, but in a situation like this where Sheik was clearly concerned, he didn’t want any insecurities Sheik had to get in the way of the help. “I really don’t mind seeing you... you know... if you need-”

“Link.” The way Sheik says his name is thick with impatience and hinted with anger. 

But was it really worth it testing him?

Ammunition, and all.

“Alright.” Link nods, and glances to his sword and shield which lay shaded and leant against a tree. “I’ll get going, then.”

It’s an awkward and painful experience as Link retrieves his armaments, one in which he’s sure he can feel Sheik glaring at him, and then his nervous mind makes the mistake of attempting to appease to avoid leaving things on a sour note.

And he opens it with a point of his hand. “Uh, I think one of the flowers around here is good for pain if you boil it-”

“I know.” Sheik always told him never to point.

“Alright.” Link thins his lips. “And there’s a freshwater lake over-”

“I know, Link.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I thought so.”

He spins about, unwilling to antagonise Sheik any further than he already has, and treads back through the same wafts of petrichor and soil.

And Link feels Sheik glare through him once more until he’s far into the tree line. 


End file.
